Years ago, without realizing it, Junshik had developed the habit of walking with a slight stoop when he was drunk. It was back in the days when he worked at the high school during the daytime and went to evening classes at the university. He was living in the basement of a house in a tiny rented room. The ceiling was so low he couldn’t avoid hitting it when he stood up straight, and so he had to keep his head down. Since then, each time he was drunk, he unconsciously found his way back to that tiny room under the stairs. That’s how he was walking now to his apartment, and when he got there he began to pound on the door with all his strength, shouting.
“Hey, open that door! Open uuup!”
His wife’s astonished face appeared. “What the hell are you doing? You could at least keep quiet when you come home drunk!”
Despite the alcohol, Junshik noticed that she was wearing makeup again. Her painted face aroused in him a sudden and inexplicable feeling of sympathy. The makeup was evidence that the care she took in her appearance was all in vain. She was pitiful, like an old waitress who continues to paint her face even when nobody looks at her anymore. But he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Look, Jeong Misook,” he said, instead. “Let me ask you a question. Why are you wearing makeup at home these past few days?”
“What are you talking about? I just put on some lipstick…. And so what if I decide to wear makeup at home? It’s only natural. You want to make something of it?”
“Oh, it’s natural alright,” Junshik said. “So tell me why you never thought to do what feels so natural before! You’re wearing makeup every day now, and I want to know the reason….”
She blushed. “First of all, what’s it to you whether or not I wear makeup?”
“You want me to answer for you? Why you’re wearing makeup now? It’s because of Minu, isn’t it?”
“What are you saying?” she said. “Are you out of your mind?”
Even in his drunken state, Junshik knew he was going too far. And yet that didn’t stop him. He went on and on, his voice growing louder and more strident, though he did not understand why.
“Isn’t it true? You want Minu to think you’re pretty, don’t you?”
“You’re drunk, Junshik, but this is too much!” Minu interrupted. He was blushing, too.
“Stay out of this,” Junshik said. “This is a problem that concerns the two of us.”
“It may be between the two of you, but since my name came up, I’m involved, too. I have a responsibility.”
“You see what he’s like, Minu? This is what I have to live with! I could die of shame, really!”
“Shame? You’re ashamed to live with me?” Junshik said.
“Yes, I’m ashamed! Is there something wrong with what I said? I don’t want to hide what’s on my mind anymore….”
She couldn’t finish what she was saying because Junshik leapt at her. But Minu grabbed him by the arms and Junshik lost his balance. As he fell to the floor, he accidentally kicked the dressing table. There was a terrible crash, and the whole room seemed to shatter before his eyes. His wife, too—even Minu. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at them reflected in fragments of the broken mirror.
What have I done? he wondered, on the floor, realizing he was alone. The house was strangely quiet. Shards of mirror littered the floor.
The door quietly opened, and his wife entered.
“I’m leaving, Hong Junshik.”
“Leaving? Where to?” He quickly got up.
She had woken Sangmi and gotten her dressed. They were standing there together with a suitcase already packed.
“Don’t worry about where we’re going,” she said.
“You’re planning to leave here tonight? In the dark?” he said.
“Yes! I can’t live in this house anymore!”
He didn’t know what to say. He felt so dumbfounded that he couldn’t even be angry. “You’re taking Sangmi?” he barely managed to say.
“Of course! I have to. You obviously can’t go to work and raise her at the same time.”
“What the hell’s gotten into you? We’ve been doing so well up until now.”
“Doing so well? We were just pretending. Keeping up appearances! I’ve never really been happy since I married you, Hong Junshik.”
“Happy? But what does that mean, anyway?” he replied, feeling defeated. He asked because he felt that he truly did not understand the meaning of that word.
“A human being who lives like a human being is happy.”
“Are you saying you aren’t living like a human being?”
“That’s right. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’ve lived with you like this against my will, without any benefit to me, without any pleasure. What kind of a life is this?”
What kind of a life is this. He had said almost those same words earlier that night at the bar. It was practically the topic of the evening. But no matter how much screaming and shouting, where was the answer to be found? He felt like he was suffocating, losing his grip, about to lose his sanity.
“So how are we supposed to live?”
“How could I possibly explain in words?”
He couldn’t take it anymore. He left the room, kicking the door open with his foot. Minu was standing just outside, his face pale. Junshik grabbed his arm.
“You, fucking bastard! Come here, this is all because of you! It was you who came into my house and made this mess.”
“Don’t be such a jerk,” his wife said. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Why not? Who the hell are you?” Junshik said to Minu. “You turned her into this, you bastard.”
“Aren’t you even ashamed in front of him?” Junshik’s wife interrupted, coming between them.
“Ashamed? Me? For what?”
“Your brother dedicated his life to the struggle for justice. What about you? You only think of yourself. You’ve never raised your voice in protest your whole life! Do you even have a dream or ideals?”
Junshik had no answer. He had hit a wall. For six years they had made a life together, and now he was facing a brick on which he couldn’t even leave a fingernail mark. He wanted to cry.
“Listen, Junshik, I’m sorry if she’s doing this because of me. But look, you’re not going to solve anything by getting carried away like this. Try to understand…”
“Understand? Why don’t you two try understanding me? So I’m a guy who goes on with life not even knowing what living means. No dreams, no ideals, just living like a bug. Depraved and groveling in front of authority—that’s the only way I could live. Why do you have to be so moral and ethical? How come you can still be so morally high and mighty?”
Minu remained silent as he listened to his brother’s rant. Junshik himself was shocked at what was coming out of his mouth. Except for the lectures he gave when he was teaching—no, not even then—he had never expressed himself so passionately. But now that he had vomited it all up, he felt relieved, even a sense of satisfaction.
“I’ve always been annoyed by you,” Junshik said. “Why are you always so proud? Why is it you’re still fighting for justice at your age? Why can’t you just be like me and kowtow to people so you can keep your job and feed your family? What have you got that lets you stay on that high horse above everyone else?”
“I’m sorry,” Minu said at last, in a low voice. “You have your way of getting through life, I have mine.”
“That’s right. You said it. I have my way and you have yours. Whatever turns you on. So let’s not get into it anymore. Everyone lives as they please.”
“Look, Junshik, I never imagined my being here would cause so many problems. I’m so sorry. I’m leaving—right now. So Misook, you try to calm down too and think it over.”
“That’s not possible. I’m leaving, too,” she said, lifting her suitcase. “I can’t go on living like this. There’s no way.”
Go ahead and leave, all of you, Junshik thought. I’ll stay here by myself. But he didn’t have the courage to say it out loud. His daughter began to cry. Minu was looking embarrassed.
“Look, Junshik, I’m going to talk a little while with sister Misook…. Why don’t you go out for a bit?”
Junshik let Minu push him out of the apartment. It felt like he was being kicked out of his own house. Standing alone in the parking lot outside, he smoked a cigarette. All the bitterness of the past few days, which he had buried deep in his heart, came bubbling up. From the time they were kids, his brother was always the good guy and he was the villain. He had never liked it, but those roles didn’t change. It was still like that now, and it would probably be the same in the end.
In the neighborhood where Junshik grew up, there once was a bread factory. They called it a “factory,” but it was just a home business that had a bread machine. The sweet and yeasty smell of baked rolls would waft through the neighborhood making their stomachs growl. The kids would breathe deeply, flaring their nostrils as they walked by so they could inhale as much of the smell as they could into their empty bellies. Every Sunday morning, Junshik’s mother would go to work there. She was probably cleaning up the kitchen or doing their backlog of laundry to earn some money. When the family had left the house—wearing their nice Sunday clothes and carrying their bibles under their arms—Junshik would come to the back fence. The house was the last one in a dead-end alley, a place where no one was likely to pass by.
He would wait there a long time until he finally heard a tapping sound against the back fence, followed by a voice whispering, “Junshik. Junshik.” He would go right up to the fence then, and from a gap in the slats, a white paper bag full of rolls would emerge. He would quickly grab it, hide it under his clothes, and run back home. His mother would steal several rolls that way, and the next day, she would sell them at the market.
It surprised him that he had never thought of what she was doing as wrong. Neither did his mother since, in her eyes, the supreme virtue was feeding her family. Regardless, Junshik had to become her accomplice in the life-and-death war she waged for their survival. As soon as she gave an order, he had to obey unconditionally and without question. But his little brother was a different species, questioning orders and resisting injustice, even in the most critical moments, so it was dangerous to trust him in this kind of operation, which involved stealing. It was because of him that everything was found out one day. Even so, it was because of her stealing that his mother could offer more new items, like fish cakes and seaweed rolls, to supplement the usual greasy fare she offered her customers.
Before taking them to sell at the market, she kept the rolls in a basket that hung from the ceiling of the kitchen. She stole different varieties with Junshik’s help: a kind with red bean, cream, and jelly filling, and a kind with poppy seeds. They all looked so delicious that even glancing at them made Junshik’s mouth water. He would swallow a mouthful of saliva, but he could never eat even a single roll because his mother was paying careful attention to her small inventory of stolen goods. Sometimes, however, he managed to sneak one of the rolls out of the basket and lick the crust. He even developed a method for not spoiling them. Hardly a roll escaped his saliva and not one of his mother’s customers ever realized it. He never forgot the delicious flavors that spread over his tongue at the time, and since then, he had not once tasted anything as wonderful.
One day, when he was supposed to meet his mother at the crack in the wall, he made a terrible mistake. He was preoccupied playing a game with his friends, and he sent Minu to take his place. It was a fatal error. Minu was stupidly caught by the landlady as he received the rolls. She must have been noticing, for a while, that some of her merchandise was missing. She grabbed Minu by the neck and dragged him home. The young woman, who was originally from Seoul but had fled during the war, began to interrogate him in front of the kitchen entrance.
“You know stealing is bad. You learned that in school, right?”
Minu, white as a sheet, nodded without saying a word.
“You were also taught not to tell lies, right?”
He nodded again.
“So tell me the truth then. Tell me where your mother is hiding the rolls.”
Minu’s frightened glance went back and forth, in turn, from Junshik to his mother.
“A truthful person goes to Heaven, but liars go to Hell. Do you want to end up in Hell?”
Junshik wanted to close his eyes at that moment. His little brother pointed to the basket hanging from the kitchen ceiling. Everything was exposed in an instant. The owner of the bread factory practically flew up to snatch the basket—and that day it happened to be particularly full.
“My, my, you certainly stole a lot, didn’t you?” she declared. “This place might as well be a thieves’ den.”
His mother just stood there, smiling like an idiot. It was the wrong thing to do because it seemed to provoke the woman’s anger. She threw herself at Junshik’s mother, grabbing a fistful of her hair.
“You bitch, who are you trying to ruin? I took pity on you because of how old you are, but you’ve been stealing from me behind my back all this time! And I thought you looked so dumb and honest.”
It was Junshik’s father who put an end to the confrontation. Witnessing the whole thing from the other room, he let out a strange yell and came running into the kitchen in his bare feet. He grabbed a pair of tongs that were used for charcoal briquettes and began to beat his wife with them, mercilessly. His father’s violence must have frightened her, because the owner of the bread factory stepped back, looking panicked. Junshik’s mother did nothing to resist the blows. She simply offered her whole body up to the tongs. Junshik’s father looked like he had gone mad, but then again, it would have been understandable. How could a gentleman who had lived his whole life with honor and dignity be expected not to lose control of himself in the face of such terrible humiliation?
Minu burst into tears and hung on to his father’s arms, begging, “Father, don’t beat her. Please stop!” Junshik, at that moment, felt so much hatred toward his brother that he wanted nothing more than to kill him. Maybe the little bastard had planned it all from the start: going along with their thieving, biding his time, just waiting for the right moment to expose them.
Junshik was twelve at the time of the incident. Twelve became twenty-two, and now he was already thirty-four years old. Twenty-two years had passed. But who knew all the hardships he’d endured living those twenty-two years? Not the principal, not his colleagues, certainly not Minu, and not his wife. There was no one who could understand his pain, his loneliness, and his sadness. This world had not once offered him a proper door of opportunity. Sometimes one would seem to appear, and he would yank it open and go through, but it was always like a dog door he had to crawl through, subservient and fearful of intimidation. If there was something he was able to enjoy, it was the reward for all that suffering. But now Minu had come along, and in the same way he had betrayed Junshik and his mother for their stealing, he had laid bare the pathetic foundation of the home that Junshik had created through all his trials and tribulations—Minu had shown that Junshik’s personal castle was built on top of a pile of lies and self-delusion. And that was the thing Junshik couldn’t bear. It didn’t matter what his brother had or hadn’t wanted—that was unimportant. What mattered was that everything had started to unravel when he had appeared.
In a corner of the parking lot there was a telephone booth that was brightly lit in the darkness. Junshik walked toward it, his feet moving mechanically. As he got closer, he became so tense and anxious that his heart began to beat violently. He found it hard to breathe. When he finally reached the phone booth he stood for a while staring at it as if he were in a stupor. But it felt as if some force was pushing him, and it wasn’t long before he stepped inside. He picked up the receiver and slipped a coin into the slot. His hand shook as he dialed the number.
A drawling voice answered. “Hello? Intelligence Section.”
“Detective Gwak, please.”
“Please hold.”
As he waited, he heard the sound of someone breathing loudly on the line only to realize, after a moment, that he was hearing himself. The receiver felt too heavy in his hand. Let it go, Junshik, a voice said from some remote corner of his mind. It’s not too late. Just hang up the phone and it’s all over.
“Hello?”
When he heard the familiar voice, he became so tense the words seemed to stick in his throat, and he could barely manage to speak. And after he’d hung up, he couldn’t remember what he had told the detective.
“Don’t worry, your wife is staying.”
Minu had been standing in front of the apartment entrance, waiting for him. Junshik couldn’t say anything to him—he couldn’t even look him in the eye. The two of them stood there for a while watching the noisy traffic speeding by along the wide thoroughfare.
“I’m leaving now.”
Junshik could see that Minu was carrying the small vinyl bag he had the day he’d arrived. He was about to ask Minu where he was going, but he stopped himself. It was a pointless question.
“I’ll walk you to Nokcheon Station,” he said.
“You don’t have to. You should go in and see your wife.”
But Junshik was already walking toward the station. After a few steps, he paused. “I don’t know where you’re off to,” he said, “but how about taking a cab?”
“I’d rather take the train. It’s more convenient.” Minu looked down at his watch. “The train’s still running, isn’t it?”
Of course the train was still running. But Junshik couldn’t take Minu to the station. Even now, if he could put him in a taxi, Minu would be safe and everything would be back to normal as if nothing had happened. But Junshik could not convince Minu, and they began walking along the same route they had taken together when Minu had first arrived a few days ago.
“What did you say to my wife? What were you two talking about?”
Minu said nothing for a moment. “About love,” he said.
“Love?”
“I was telling her how much you must love her.”
“How much I love her? How would you know?”
“Of course I know. All I needed to see was how you got all fired up with jealousy.” Minu laughed, as if he were joking, baring his white teeth in the darkness.
Junshik didn’t know what to say. The hot, humid breeze carried a foul odor. They were almost at Nokcheon Station.
“Do you think we’ll be able to see each other again sometime?”
Minu didn’t answer. He suddenly stopped walking and looked at Junshik. “I’m so sorry, Junshik,” he said. “Will you forgive me?”
“Why are you asking for my forgiveness?”
“I feel like I have to. If you suffered in any way because of me, please forgive me.”
Junshik couldn’t say anything. He wanted to turn around with Minu and go back, but it was already too late. Nokcheon Station appeared before them. Junshik cautiously scanned the surroundings, his heart beginning to pound.
He could see two men in the distance in front of the station’s turnstile. They looked sturdy but were clearly not construction workers. Junshik slowly climbed the stairs, not taking his eyes off them. They had also noticed Junshik and his brother, but they showed no reaction and Minu didn’t seem to have noticed anything. Junshik was so nervous his knees were trembling. Even from that distance, one of the men looked familiar with his slightly hunched posture. While he slowly went up the stairs, Junshik was mentally calculating the distance that still separated them.
“Just a moment,” Junshik said, grabbing his brother by the arm when they’d almost reached the top of the stairs.
Minu was alerted by the strange tone in Junshik’s voice. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“These guys look suspicious. They look like they might be cops….”
“Oh, come on.” Minu sounded dismissive, but his body had already stiffened. The two men, noticing their hesitation, began slowly walking toward them.
“Run!” Junshik said. He grabbed Minu’s hand, turned, and started to run, pulling his brother behind him.
Minu hesitated at first but then followed. Behind them, they could hear the thudding of their pursuers’ footsteps.
They made it down the stairs and rushed headlong into the darkness, the footsteps behind them drawing closer. The sound of Junshik’s labored breathing mixed with his brother’s. By the time Junshik got his bearings, he realized they had reached the piles of materials at the construction site. He heard a sudden noise behind him—Minu must have tripped over something. Junshik looked over his shoulder to see that the two men were already on top of his brother.
“Ju-Junshik!” Minu called out to him.
But Junshik did not stop. Even while he was running, he kept asking himself, Why am I running like this? I have no reason to be running from the police. It’s not me, but my brother they want. But those thoughts did nothing to slow him down. Finally, he realized he could no longer hear their footsteps chasing him. He hid on the ground behind a segment of cement pipe and looked behind him. He could make out their vague silhouettes even in the darkness. Minu seemed to put up resistance, but it was only for a moment, and then he gave up and let himself be led away. Junshik watched the whole time, holding his breath.
Even after they had disappeared, Junshik remained there for a long time, unable to get up. There was a terrible stench wafting from somewhere. He felt along the ground and his hand touched something soft. He realized he was crouching in a trench full of shit, and still, he couldn’t seem to get up. He felt paralyzed, as if all the energy had drained from his body.
Sitting there, he wondered what had made him run at the sight of the two men at the station. Was it a delayed pang of conscience? Or was it because he didn’t want to be suspected of having been the one who called the police?
He lifted his head and looked up at the sky. Even from the trench full of shit, the stars twinkled beautifully, and for no apparent reason, tears began to flow from his eyes. The truth was, he did not feel any guilt. Even if it hadn’t been now, his brother would have confronted reality—it was just a matter of time. If Minu was as pure and innocent as his wife seemed to think, then he was just a victim of his own innocence—his naivete.
But then why am I suddenly so sad? Junshik wondered. Why am I crying now? Why do I feel like there’s a hole in my heart, as if I’m the most desperately miserable of all miserable beings?
He was sobbing now. The tears would not stop, and the more he cried the sadder he became. Despair, deep in his heart, that he could not explain to anyone. A personal despair no one would understand. He stayed like that for a long time, crying loudly like a child, sitting on his haunches in that trench full of shit without a thought of getting up. His face was twisted into a grimace of pain, as if all the sadness in his heart was suddenly being squeezed out. He let himself go, carried by the sadness so long held in his body, shedding tears for the inevitability of nothingness.
A train had just arrived at the station. Passengers disembarked and walked by just a few paces from where Junshik was squatting.
“Why is that guy crying over there?”
“Maybe he’s drunk.”
“You don’t cry like that when you’re drunk…he musta been in some accident, huh?”
“Don’t worry about him. You never know—he might be crazy!”
The people moved away, and he found himself alone again. A long time passed, and then he finally got up, slowly, stiffly. Stinking and covered in shit, he began to walk but found he was staggering like an old wounded soldier or a dog that’s just been kicked in the flank. The sobbing in his throat had turned into a kind of hiccup.
What is my wife doing now? he thought. Is she waiting for me? Has she given up on leaving, like Minu said? How will she greet me later? Could she ever forget all this? What will become of Minu?
He’ll be put away for a long time, away from the rest of the world. But he’s not the only one who can’t do what he wants in this world. I have to live with constant humiliation, with no dignity, without innocence. He looked into the darkness. He had to go. Back to his twenty-three-pyeong nest floating precariously on that enormous pile of garbage in that void in the distance, trampling through all the rubbish, the hate, and abandoned dreams.
Translated by Heinz Insu Fenkl